Complex Numbers

Strip Mining.

I was supposed to be going to a stripper bar tonight.

My friend Ken turns 40 today. I remember turning 40 - it was rough, and I only got past it by committing to start a business; it was either that, or buy a Porsche.

Ken called me last week and said, "What are you doing Tuesday?"

I said, "Working," because that's what I do a lot - see above reference to starting a business.

"Want to take a break? I'm turning 40."

"Aw, man, I'm sorry."

"And I've never been to a strip club, so let's go."

"Um... I've never been, either. But I know someone who has..."

So I called up our mutual friend, Ed. Ed and Ken were the groomsmen at my wedding. To Ed, 40 is a dim, fading memory. "Ed, what are you doing Tuesday night?"

"Nothing." (Ed doesn't own a business.)

"Ken's never been to a strip club, and it's his birthday Tuesday."

"Oh, okay. I have some 'friends' who have been to strip clubs. I'll check with them."

Of course, then I had to bring the subject up with my wife.

"Honey?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm going to a strip club with Ken and Ed on Tuesday."

"Have fun."

"You don't want to go?"

"I have a dance thing." (Said dance thing doesn't involve stripping, unless there's something she hasn't been telling me.)

"I won't enjoy it, you know."

"I know." Damn, she knows me.

Thing is, I wouldn't enjoy it. It'd be something I could use as experience, maybe incorporate it into a story sometime, but I don't think I've had a desire to visit a stripper bar since I was, maybe, 16. To me, it's like going to a fancy restaurant, sitting down, reading the menu, watching everyone at the tables around me get served, and leaving after a couple of hours, broke and even hungrier than when I left.

Right now there's people going, "You're comparing women to food! Stop objectifying us!"

No, dear, I'm comparing strippers to food. Strippers encourage the objectification. I've heard strippers say that "I'm going to be objectified anyway, so why not do it on my own terms?" I'm sure that's not a universal attitude; still, if they can call it feminist to do the strip thing, I can call it feminist to refuse to watch them.

Incidentally, while I haven't been to a strip club, there was the bachelor party, which was also arranged by Ed. Probably a little more private than a bar, but it still wasn't my thing - though I appreciate Ed taking the time to set it up for us.

"I looked around and there's just nothing open on a Tuesday, not within driving distance." This was Ed, the next day. I knew the nearest one would be at least an hour and a half away; Charlottesville is too liberal to boast a tittybar.

"Aw, man. Ken's going to be bummed."

But when I called Ken, it turned out he was expecting his brother, who would also be joining us (I don't know him, though). But the brother isn't coming in until Thursday. "Another time, maybe," Ken said.

"Cool." So I don't know - maybe we'll do it another time, maybe not. Now I kind of want to go just so I can say I've been. Instead, Ken and I are going out for beers later. Or maybe beer, singular - his liver's been acting up.

Must be getting old.